


whisper a little prayer for me

by 00yearning00



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Arthur-centric, First Kiss, Fix-It, Flashbacks, High Honor Arthur Morgan, M/M, Oblivious Arthur, Period-Typical Homophobia, Post Chapter 6, Slow Burn, Suicidal Thoughts, implied hosea matthews/dutch van der linde
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-08
Updated: 2021-01-19
Packaged: 2021-03-12 07:00:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,898
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28631388
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/00yearning00/pseuds/00yearning00
Summary: He was floating in and out of consciousness, waiting for the moment he didn’t wake up again. But it didn’t come, instead, the sound of snow crunching underfoot came. Arthur hoped it would be Micah, coming to finish what he started.He didn't get what he hoped for, but perhaps it was something better.~~TAKING A BREAK FOR A WHILE, NOT ABANDONED~
Relationships: Arthur Morgan/Charles Smith
Comments: 16
Kudos: 70





	1. chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first work for this fandom (and on ao3) and I hope it's at least a little good. I'm a little wary of my characterization of Charles, criticism is welcome. I plan on releasing chapters at least once a week. All of my work is unbeta'd, so all mistakes are mine. I wasn't sure what tags to add. Also this fic is VERYYY arthur centric! its not all romance, sadly.

Arthur had always feared death, but right now it seemed like salvation.

He was facing a sunrise that seemed like an eternity, his lungs burned, his entire body ached, and the worst part of it all, he was alone. With his vision swimming with black spots and stars, he had just watched Dutch turn away from him, his eyes full of hurt and fear and, something he had rarely seen in Dutch, sadness. Dutch had betrayed him again, and at that moment he knew there was no saving the old man, his father, and his mentor. Arthur wasn’t sure what hurt him more, the disease, or the betrayal. 

Arthur wished his body would give out. He wished the coughs would take away his breath for the last and final time. He wished he had it in him to find that damn gun lying somewhere on the mountain ground, or at least that he could find enough strength to throw himself off of the edge. But he didn’t find that strength, nor that gun. So he lay, painfully aware that he would have to wait for the hunger and thirst to take him away. 

Coughs racked through his body like bullets. Blood came in spurts and covered the rocks before him, which in turn, covered his body in crimson. Arthur couldn’t remember how many sunsets and sunrises he had been through. The days were blending into a single suicidal thought. He ached in his stomach, now. He knew that release would come soon, he willed it to. He was floating in and out of consciousness, waiting for the moment he didn’t wake up again. But it didn’t come, instead, the sound of snow crunching underfoot came. Arthur hoped it would be Micah, coming to finish what he started, but it wasn’t.

“Arthur? oh, Arthur” the voice floated through the air, rough and familiar. His eyes opened briefly to show a glimpse of long, dark hair and deep brown skin. Arthur felt like he should recognize this man, but he couldn’t seem to. He was more focused on how he wished whoever it was would put a bullet through him, just to stop the aches. 

“Arthur, can you stand?” was the last thing he heard before blacking out. 

-

Arthur awoke to a fire, dull aches, and a different view in front of him. He saw a man, his savior, in front of him and for a second he wondered if God was real. He felt himself wanting to chuckle, but instead, only pain came bursting out of his chest. He couldn't move, paralyzed from the nerves in his lungs and throat screaming at him to stop. He couldn't even cough, couldn't even move. He could only try to focus his vision on the scene in front of him. Dewy grass touched his arms, hands, legs, and feet, no more hard rocks and suffocating sky. Arthur worships it like nothing else. He glanced back at the man and realized his savior was Charles. Charles Smith, asleep in front of the fire, hair flowing across the ground and his face. Arthur's heart swelled at the sight, but he felt a deep sadness he couldn’t place no matter how hard he tried. Why did Charles save him? He was a dying man, someone that could give Charles the same damn disease and kill him, too. He wasn’t worth it, Dutch had shown him that. The thought sent ice through his chest, a different kind of hurt than what he normally felt. Somehow, it was worse. The thought of giving Charles this disease made him want to cry, which wasn’t something Arthur Morgan had done in a long time. 

—

Arthur hadn’t realized he had fallen asleep again until he woke up. 

He was startled by Charles trying to pour something down his throat. He blinked and tried to swallow carefully enough not to startle Charles, whose hand was carefully cradling Arthur's head, and his other was tipping a bottle slowly enough not to choke the sick man. The action was full of affection and fear. His hands shook slightly and his eyes were glossy and hard set staring at Arthur’s mouth. 

Arthur swallowed whatever it was, and he guessed that was enough for Charles to realize he had woken up.

“You’re awake. How are you feeling?” The words were full of relief, Arthur could see him breathe out a sigh, and it was almost like Charles’s body had life return to it.

“M’ f-fine.” Arthur tried to get out, his voice was scratchy and hardened from days of disuse. For a moment, he wished again, that he hadn't been saved. 

Charles tried to smile at him, but emotion overtook him, he embraced Arthur. His frame engulfed him, who was now frail, those days on the mountain had whittled him away to a skeleton. His hands roamed Arthur’s back like Arthur was his one and only lifeline. Arthur tried to grasp him back, but he had no strength left in him, all he could manage was a hand around Charles’s torso, barely able to hold on, but by God did he never want to let him go. 

The moment lasted only seconds, but Arthur wished it could have been his eternity. Arthur had always looked on Charles as his most formidable partner, the most honorable in the gang, and in his most vulnerable moments, he thought of him as the one he would miss the most when the sickness took him under. Arthur knew thoughts like those were dangerous, they teetered on an edge that shouldn’t be crossed. But he remembered moments with Hosea and Dutch, where their hands would meet across a table, or when Hosea would sneak off into Dutch’s tent when he thought the camp was asleep. His mentors held an intimacy that Arthur craved. He could remember Charles carefully studying Arthur as he taught him how to hunt, or when he would come home to see new arrows laid across his bed. He felt as if he may be able to have the type of intimacy they had shared. He would fight wars for this fate. 

Charles separated himself but kept a hand on Arthur’s shoulder, staring at him with a look of relief. Arthur felt himself wanting to laugh out of some kind of happiness, but the coughing started. Again. They racked his body with flares and bullets, tearing him apart from the inside. He pushed Charles away with as much force as he could, trying not to spread any of his spit onto the other man. In the background he could hear Charles, “Arthur are you alright? lay back down, please. drink this.” Arthur couldn’t follow any of those directions, all he could do was hope the coughs wouldn’t pull him back under. 

Arthur felt a hand on his back after some time, rubbing circles and trying to soothe the nightmare he was experiencing. He knew that Charles must feel helpless right now, but there was no cure to this wretched sickness. Finally, Arthur calmed down, his lungs and throat burning like hell. his vision cleared and he looked up at Charles, managing a weak smile of thanks. Arthur was fully aware that Charles had yet to remove the hand off his back, but he was not going to complain. Charles gave a halfhearted smile back, before looking behind him in search of something, finally removing his hand. Arthur knew he shouldn’t be sad at this, but a part of him was. Although it should be the least of his worries right now, seeing as he was on his deathbed. 

Charles had grabbed a bottle of something, the golden liquid was muddled by the brown bottle surrounding it. Charles held it out to him, 

“It’s something called a miracle cure. Surely you’ve heard of it. I’ve been giving it to you for a few days since you’ve been asleep. I hope it’s alright.” 

Arthur felt his chest swell, not in pain, but admiration for the man in front of him. He wasn’t sure if he could ever repay Charles for what he was doing, pretty much nursing him back to health. it made Arthur feel unreasonably guilty. Charles shouldn’t have to do this. The Pinkertons were still going to be searching for Charles, and certainly for Arthur. Arthur was only going to weigh him down and eventually get him killed. Arthur more than anything wanted to tell him this, but now wasn’t the time. 

He groaned out a thank you before taking it. he had used this type of medicine before, but never in this quantity. Charles nudged him to drink at least half, the liquid sticking to his throat like nothing other. It tasted of currant and yarrow, and Arthur felt nauseous. 

“Jesus... why’s it gotta be so strong?” Arthur coughed a little, and Charles's hand was at his back again in an instant. He could feel his eyes boring into his face in a way that seemed protective. Arthur had felt this before when they were out hunting and Arthur got a little too close to a wolf, or when they were caught in the crossfire and he hadn’t moved up as quickly as Charles wished. the same set of eyes that conveyed so many words in just a look. Arthur wished he knew what it all meant.

Charles brought out his own pillow to leave under Arthur's head, “Do you think you can eat anything? I've only been able to get soup in you. no protein yet.” 

“‘m not sure— throat aches.” Charles grimaced. he sat in thought for a moment, and Arthur guessed he was trying to figure out something real they could both eat.

“Maybe we could try deer? It’s not very chewy if I cook it right. Won't be too rough on your throat.” 

“Maybe.” Arthur gazed at the man, he didn’t trust his body but he trusted Charles. Maybe he could finally eat. He could feel his body crying out for some kind of protein just hearing the mention of deer.

“Alright. I’ll go get something…. will you be alright alone?” Charles’s voice was steady, but Arthur knew he was hiding reluctance behind it. 

“I’m not an invalid am I?” Arthur huffed. He didn’t want to be treated like a china doll, he could defend himself if he needed to. Although, the scene around them was foreign. Charles must have ridden them out farther than Arthur had been before. How long had he been out for? He couldn’t recognize the trees around him, and watching a squirrel run out from one, he saw that it was pure black. Fear crept into his body like poison. Arthur hated the unknown, he hated the feeling that he didn’t know where to escape to, where the closest saloon was, or where he could stable his horse. 

“Where are we, Charles?” Charles looked at him in a way that made Arthur feel like his mind was being read, that Charles could see right through him, that Charles knew everything he could ever imagine to say. It made Arthur shiver. 

“I believe Canada, or at least close to it. I passed a sign a ways back, but I’m not well versed in french. I can only guess from that. but we’re safe.” Charles seemed on guard from where he was sitting, knees bent, elbows resting on them and a knife in his hands Arthur hadn’t even realized their proximity had ceased. How did Charles do it? In a blink, he had shrunk back to his original spot by the fire, and Arthur was more focused on the damn squirrels to see it happening. Arthur looked the other way. He felt guilty. Would Charles have had to come all the way to goddamn Canada if Arthur would have just died on that mountain? Could Charles have just gone west or south instead of to the cold snow of the Queen’s land? 

“Sorry to keep you waitin’. go ahead ‘n hunt.'' Arthur couldn't look at Charles, he was too good of a man to have to run off into Canada like some soldier escaping the draft. 

He heard Charles get up and sling his bow over his shoulder, taking his quiver and shotgun with him. Arthur couldn’t bring himself to look, he knew Charles would know it wasn’t to be rude. Arthur heard the sound of Taima’s hoofs pound off into the distance. He once again became painfully aware of the burning in his lungs. He wished Micah would have just pushed him off the edge instead of running off like a kicked puppy when he saw Dutch hesitating. He didn’t want the weeks to come, the months, maybe even years to come where it would only get worse. He sat up and it flared, not coughs but scratches down his throat, screaming from the inside as he reached for the bottled cure. He drank the rest, the heat from the fire had warmed it, which helped ease the pain in his throat. He eyed Charles’s bedroll, wondering if he had an extra gun hiding in it somewhere. He could never be angry at Charles for carrying him off that mountain, but goddamn, he never knew he could feel so melancholy about being alive. 

The feeling reminded him of the way Dutch had moped around camp after Hosea chose to try out a true life, or the way Dutch had screamed and punched the trees and any man who dared challenge him after Annabelle was murdered. It reminded him of John, running away, scared of the commitment he had made to Dutch’s group of outlaws. In many different ways, Arthur knew he wasn’t the first to experience this feeling, but Jesus Christ did he feel alone. Arthur needed release, and right now he felt like it could only come from the barrel of a gun. He didn’t regret giving John his satchel or his revolver, but for a moment he scolded himself on it. 

Instead of trying to crawl to Charles’s bedroll in search of an end, he closed his eyes. Sleep overtook him quickly, and his last thought was of the man who was somewhere in the Canadian woods. 

\---

The deer worked. The tenderloin felt like liquid gold in his mouth, his throat didn’t object to it either. Arthur must have eaten the whole deer himself while Charles watched him across the fire, not speaking. Arthur knew Charles wanted to ask what happened on that mountain, but Arthur didn’t know if he could even say it aloud. One day they would have that conversation, but not today. Arthur gazed at him right back. He already had Charles memorized, his broad shoulders, long hair that Arthur had always wanted to run his fingers through, his eyes that seemed to hold the answer to every question, and his hands. Oh, his hands. The hands of someone who had killed, yet Arthur didn’t see him as a killer. They reminded him of the arrows Charles used to leave, the way he skinned an animal in the most gentle way, but also of the way he could throw a knife right into the throat of an O’Driscoll. And Arthur loved them. He craved to hold them, just to feel how they fit in his own. Only in my fantasies, he thought. 

“You done yet?” Charles spoke suddenly, a smirk pulling at his mouth. 

“Haven’t eaten this good since before Pearson,” Arthur said, meaning every word. 

Charles just brushed the compliment off, instead opting to talk about plans, “I’m planning on moving into town tomorrow. We’re just outside someplace called Windsor, now.”

“I thought we was avoiding people?”

“It’s big Arthur. Even bigger than Saint Denis. Too many people to recognize us, and you’re pretty unrecognizable now.” Charles tried to joke, and Arthur smirked just to please him. “We’ll only hideout for a few weeks, just until I can figure out somewhere stable to go.” 

Arthur shook his head, he hated Saint Denis and its stuck up Middle class. He hated the muggy air and bad memories. He didn’t know how Canadians worked and it scared him, he hated to admit. 

“Sounds fine, I guess. I jus’...” Arthur wanted Charles out of harm’s way as much as possible. He could only imagine the posters plastered on posts, jail walls, saloons, everywhere: 

Charles Smith, Indian and Black descent, Wanted for Murder of The First Degree and Treason Against the United States of America, Dead or Alive.

The thought terrified Arthur. He knew it may be far-fetched because of the distance between New Hanover and Canada, but who knows how far the Pinkertons would go to catch just one of the Van der Linde gang.

“What is it, Arthur?”

“Don’t want you gettin’ caught, is all.”

Charles sighed and stretched out, putting the heel of a boot near the fire. “We won’t get caught. I can’t promise, but you’ve got to believe me. You can stay in the hotel the entire time if it will make you more comfortable.” The suggestion slightly offended Arthur, but he didn’t say anything. He opted for laying back down and closing his eyes. 

Nerves prevented him from sleep, all he could do was think and think about what had transpired over the past few weeks. He remembered, in clear view, placing his hat upon John’s head and the way John looked at him as if he knew what was about to happen. The way his stomach felt at the sight of John walking away towards his salvation, getting what Arthur had longed for him to have the entire time they had known each other. Arthur was twenty-two and unaware of how much a thirteen-year-old monster of a boy could mean to him. Now he was 36, and he felt as if he was letting his brother finally have what he had failed so many times at. A real, honest life. Arthur’s stomach felt the memory all over again, the stones in his gut weighing heavily just like the first time.

Arthur remembered how bad he wanted to kill every single Pinkerton he could to ensure John wouldn’t be followed. He wondered if John found Abigail and Jack. He prayed John did, he may never know the answer, but God did he pray. 

He thought of Dutch and where he would go. Would he go back to Micah and his pack of rats? Or would he hide out somewhere until the world couldn’t remember his name? He used to think he knew Dutch and what course he would take no matter how grandeur he seemed, but ever since Blackwater Arthur had lost that feeling. He knew Dutch would live, but he couldn't tell how. Years ago he would have moved to another big city, shaved his mustache, and robbed a bank dry before running to the next one. Dutch used to leave no traces, but ever since Blackwater following Dutch was like leaving footsteps in the snow. A part of Arthur wanted Dutch to have died walking down that cliff, for the world to have the weight of Dutch van der Linde finally off of its shoulders. When he was younger he used to see Dutch as the smartest man he knew (other than Hosea) but now Arthur knew that all of that smart led to something as ignorant as the present situation. He wasn't sure how he hadn't seen it sooner. 

The thoughts depressed Arthur to no end. He wished he had put a bullet into Milton’s head the moment he saw him by the stream with Jack. Maybe Hosea would have lived and convinced Dutch to take a different path. But Arthur couldn’t entertain these fantasies, they were only aiding his desperation for whatever end is coming for him. 

Arthur fell asleep thinking of Hell, and he dreamed of things even worse.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW for suicidal thoughts

The bustling town of Windsor surrounded the pair. The town mirrored Saint Denise in many ways, except most people spoke European languages which only Charles could catch some of. 

Arthur gazed at the architecture surrounding them, entirely different from anything he had seen before. Not many growing towers like in Saint Denise, but one story shops that seemed full of different cultures. 

And the people were different too. They had an exotic type of air, which briefly reminded him of Charles Chatenay. Although they had only just crossed the border between Yankee land and Queen’s land, the air seemed entirely different.

Arthur tried to make himself stop searching every post and wall for their Wanted posters. The only other thing to focus on was the way his arms were around Charles’s waist, and how he had heard Charles humming to himself when he thought Arthur was asleep. 

“The International. That’s where we’re staying, Arthur.” Charles spoke up, stealing Arthur from his daydreams.

“That’s the one with all the signs, right? It looks classy… expensive.” Arthur had been seeing signs for it all over town, posted on boards, even street signs pointed towards it. Arthur knew Charles was smart, he knew he could trust him, but he was still terrified at the thought of one of the Windsor police spotting them. 

“Yeah, that’s the one. And don’t worry, I’ve got money. The moment I got reservations about… the whole thing I started selling as much as I could and saving it all for a moment like this. I’ve got at least a week’s worth of days at the hotel and enough for food, too.” Charles spoke with confidence and with a dangerous air to him. Arthur realized Charles may have been onto Dutch’s fall to madness for longer than he thought. 

“You’re a smart man, Charles,” Arthur said, pretty much into the man’s ear. He didn’t mean for it to come out as a whisper, he didn’t even mean for it to come out at all. Maybe the sickness had reached his brain, he thought. 

The lake air was starting to make his throat and lungs sting with a burn he knew would turn into a fit. Arthur really didn’t want to fall off another damn horse in another damn unfamiliar industrial town. He lifted the collar of his coat, which must be new, to his face, coughing into it as softly as possible. He didn’t want Charles to worry over him right now, although the ghost of Charles’s arm rubbing his back was terribly missed.

-

Taima made it to the hotel, which was crowded with horses hitched in almost every space possible, and had audible french chatter surrounding the doors. Charles hitched Taima in one of the few empty spaces and took his satchel and saddlebag from her. Arthur felt a smile pulling at his lips at that. He didn’t trust the people, and the people sure as hell wouldn’t trust him. Arthur would have done the same. 

Arthur climbed off Taima with aching bones, desperately wanting another one of those ‘cures’ Charles had given him when he first woke up. He wondered if Charles made them, or if he bought them. He didn’t know how he would feel if he found out Charles was spending his savings on a dead man. 

Together they walked into the hotel, dodging the questioning eyes of the Frenchmen huddled outside of the building. The hotel interior was something out of a storybook. Dark wooden floors that looked slick, billowing purple velvet curtains, carpeted stairs to the upper floors, carefully painted signs pointing towards the baths and outhouses. Arthur felt out of place standing in his blood-stained jeans and a shirt he had borrowed from Charles. Charles didn’t look so out of place, he wore a leather jacket that looked fairly new, a white buttoned shirt, and clean boots. Arthur did wonder then, how much money Charles really had saved. 

The desk clerk looked at them with bored eyes, waiting for them to approach. When Charles made his way there the man cheered up, dawning a fake smile. “Rooms are two dollars a night, each. Baths are fifty cents plus extra if you want help.” The man had a slightly french accent and was condescending in the way he said help. Arthur decided that he didn’t care for the french as much as he thought. 

“Uhm. Just one room and two baths.” Charles said quickly and quietly, trying not to be overheard by the other guests loitering around the hall. 

Arthur eyed Charles, then. Charles didn’t look back, but he always knew when people stared at him, he was just avoiding Arthur’s gaze. Why only one room? On their past trips together, Charles had always been the one to speak up and ask for two. It made Arthur’s stomach feel light, but he knew Charles’s reason would not match what Arthur hoped for. 

“It’s not permitted for two men to room together unless one is considered an invalid or child.” He was being unnecessarily loud. Arthur watched as a few heads turned with gasps and whispers in languages Arthur couldn’t understand. He wanted to throttle the clerk, punch him until he looked about how Arthur felt. But he didn’t. He stood there, flexing his fists and waiting for Charles to speak instead.

“Well, he’s not an invalid but he is sick. I need to watch over him in the night, in case…” Charles glanced at Arthur then, his eyes apologetic. Arthur forgave him automatically. He had no other choice. He could hold nothing but admiration for the man beside him, and Arthur knew Charles was right. One coughing fit in the night could put him under again. 

“Fine. That will be five dollars for…?” His voice dripped with distaste as he grabbed the keys behind him. Arthur wished his lungs would last for a fight. Charging them double was what put Arthur over the edge, but Charles didn’t seem as bothered. Arthur just let Charles handle it, but he made it clear with a look and a huff that he wasn’t happy. 

“Holden Brown.” Arthur looked to Charles, wondering if he had just come up with the name or if he had been sitting on it for a while. 

The clerk slapped the keys into Charles’s palm and drew his hand away in such a manner that made Arthur sick. He knew men like Arthur were disliked, hated even, but it didn’t mean he was used to it. Especially since he hadn’t acted on the urge for who knows how long. And he sure as hell didn’t like to see Charles being judged for a thing that may not even be true. 

“Here,” Charles handed him a bath key and pointed towards the sign, “I’m going to take mine now, do you want uh- extra?” Arthur knew he was suggesting he may want a woman’s company, which made Arthur smirk. 

“No… I- uh, think I’ll do this one alone.” 

“Me too.” Charles smiled and nodded, making his way up the stairs. 

-

The hot water engulfed Arthur’s body, smothering his aches and pains slowly. Slower than what Arthur wished for. 

He let his head fall back against the edge of the tub. His legs bent at the knees, but his muscles fully submerged. He didn’t dare look down at his mess of a body. Once he became attuned to walking again he had realized his ribs were bruised, and his collarbone felt off-placed. He didn’t want to glance down at the wreck of purple and black bruises he must be in. Micah had beat him into a bad shape, worse than he thinks anyone’s got him in before, which made Arthur inexplicably angry. It made him remember how helpless he had felt as Micah’s punches landed, as his lungs filled with fits, as he tried to make his punches connect but his body seemed to be tearing him apart from the inside and Micah was tearing it apart from the outside. 

Hopeless was a better word. 

Hopelessness is something that Arthur couldn’t stand feeling. He felt it inside of the Saint Denise bank when he heard Hosea’s last painful grunt. He felt it when he heard Dutch’s footsteps fading away at the oil refinery. And especially when Dutch wouldn’t listen to Arthur when he tried to tell him that Micah was a rat. All of the hopeless memories became a blur that led to this exact moment. 

Arthur wished there was a way to go back in time, to tell Dutch he should have never trusted Micah, to only trust Hosea’s word. But he couldn’t, and Arthur found himself thinking of the Dutch he knew when they first met. The man who saved him from death too many times, the man who taught him to read, write, and shoot like nothing else. The man who looked at young John and took a chance, the man who never left anyone behind. Someone he could trust. A father. 

Dutch had aged to become a grim reaper. Leaving bodies and regrets in his path of destruction. 

Arthur decided to put these memories behind him and got on with his bath, closing his eyes to shield himself from the vicious sight of his body. He instead thought of Charles, in the bathroom next to his own. 

But maybe that wasn’t the best to think about either. 

Thinking of Charles made his blood feel warm in his veins. It made him feel safe to know that the man who saved his life would come if he even heard a cough. It made his hair stand up to think of Charles, wearing nothing but a towel, coming to check on him. A part of him also felt guilty and angry, knowing that he would be waited on like a sick child for the rest of his days. He couldn’t fathom how long he would be able to stand it, the doting on him, the are you okays, the constant medicine, and the last words. But he was sure he wouldn’t want anyone to dote on him but Charles, so he couldn’t be mad for long. 

He thought of how different Charles had become in such a short time. He had grown stronger since the first day Arthur had woken up. He guessed it was from the fact he had to do all of the hunting on his own, all of the riding, and all of the times he carried Arthur’s lifeless body around when he had been under. It made Charles look good, better even, which Arthur didn’t think was possible. 

Charles was all muscle, strong thick arms and thighs, and broad shoulders that looked as if he could hold the world on them. Charles had started growing his hair out on the sides, making him look more and more godlike than Arthur thought was humanly possible. He had seen Charles bathing one day, and the image had been burned into his eyelids since. 

Heat pooled in his stomach, and Arthur thought of moving his hand down. Just to feel something other than aches and pains that he was now accustomed to. 

The action was interrupted with a knock. 

“Hello, minjeer? Would you like a hand, or maybe two?” Came a lady’s voice, not french but something of the sort. 

“No, no thank you.” Arthur huffed. He shook his head. He was being stupid. It felt wrong to do this, knowing that Charles would never think of him in the same way. He didn’t know how he would look at Charles after, he knew he wouldn’t be able to meet his eyes without guilt. 

But God, it was so tempting. 

He pushed down the urge and finished the bath, scrubbing down his head and neck before sinking under one last time. He got up and put on his worn-out union suit, avoiding his own ungodly sight in the mirror once again.

He left the room, hoping that Charles had not yet finished his bath.

\---

Their room was as royal as the foyer, the same velvet over the windows, and matching sheets on the bed. The fireplace burned idly, its cracking and hissing making the only sound in the room. The mirror was directly beside the fireplace, which was where Arthur caught the first glimpse of himself since… since who knows when. 

Mirrorshad always been a struggle for him. He was always picking himself apart, calling himself names that he knew everyone else must be saying about him behind his back. He wasn’t the most pretty feller, he knew that for sure, but right now he looked like death embodied. His beard had grown out as far as it could go. His eyes were sunken into the back of his skull, but they had the strangest clarity to them, like they were the only part of him that was truly alive. His nose was broken, and new scars were littering his face. His frame had little to no muscle and his skin looked paler than ever even though he had spent weeks in front of the sun. 

“You are one ugly bastard, ain’t you? Sick, old, and ugly.” Arthur spat at the mirror. He looked like a shell of the man he used to be, and back then he barely considered himself a man. He had lost a piece of himself on that mountain and in the spaces he couldn’t remember, and he feared he would never get it back. “You sad sack of shit… You oughta just off-” 

“Arthur, don’t talk like that.” It was Charles, who Arthur hadn’t noticed walking in. He turned around to look at the man, who held another cure in his hand and a bundle of clothes. 

“I was jus’... lookin’ at myself. Haven’t seen it in a while.” Arthur was embarrassed and ashamed of himself, he felt like he was laid bare, all of him exposed for questioning. But the questions never came. Just the same pregnant silence that had rested between them ever since Arthur woke up. Arthur, so badly wanted to yell at Charles and demand he asks all the questions he had, all the questions about Micah, and Dutch, and John, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. He just shook his head and sat down in the chair by the fire. 

Charles joined him and handed him another large bottle of medicine. “Drink half again.” He said, their fingers briefly meeting as he passed it over. He hesitated before letting go, looking at Arthur with eyes full of an emotion Arthur couldn’t make out. “Arthur… I don’t want it to seem like I’m taking care of you like a wife takes care of a sick husband. I was thinkin’ earlier and I figured it might seem that way, and I just wanted to apologize. And I’ll stop if you don’t want me to, just say it.” Arthur knew Charles was an honest man, but he never failed to surprise him. Arthur just smiled gently, looking into the other man’s deep eyes, “It ain’t feelin like that yet. Y’know I wouldn’t take it if it did.” Charles nodded and let go of the bottle, turning his attention to the fire.

Arthur drank the liquid, wincing at the taste. He wondered if one day he would get used to it, he wondered how many of the bottles he would go through in the rest of his days. 

Silence weighed heavily between them. Silence with Charles was normal, he was one of the few men Arthur knew who didn’t need constant conversation, which was why Arthur enjoyed his company so much. But right now, it was suffocating him. He was attuned to the way Charles’s body sat, he had seen him angry, worried, scared, and tired. Now he could tell Charles was holding back, and Arthur wasn’t going to let the unsaid ruin what used to be comfortable silence. 

“Charles, just ask.” 

Charles turned back to him, his face lit by the flames; covering him golden brown light that made him look angelic. His eyes were fixed on Arthur’s, forming what he would say, thinking about how to say it. “I got Rains Fall and his tribe to safety. They met with another tribe along the way and let me break off. I’ve been writing him, and they seem secure with the Canadian natives.” Arthur wasn’t expecting that to be what Charles wanted to say, but he was glad. He had forgotten sometime along the way about Rains Fall, and for a moment he felt guilty for not asking Charles about it for all those days, he knew Charles cared deeply about them. 

“‘M glad. Sorry I didn’t ask sooner--” 

“Don’t apologize. You’ve had more to worry about.” Arthur could tell he truly meant this, and he could see that same damn look in Charles’s eyes that he couldn’t place. He could also tell Charles wanted to ask about what happened with everyone else. Arthur just decided he should come out with it.

“Dutch left me, up there, y’know,” Arthur chuckled slightly, avoiding Charles’s gaze, “and that damned Micah beat me to hell, but I’guess you could tell. John got out, so did Jack n’ Abigail, Tilly n’ Sadie. Or at least that’s what I’m tellin’ myself. I didn’t think I would, though. Thought I was gonna waste away. I could feel it comin’ on, almost dead from starvin’ the moment you made it up that mountain.” He looked back up from the embers, and Charles had a dangerous look, a fire simmering in his eyes. 

“I should’ve stayed. I could’ve… helped somehow. I don’ know.” 

“Don’t talk that shit Charles, you had better things to do than protect me. And I’m alive ain’t I? Not for long… But I’m alive.” 

“Now you’re the one talkin shit. You ain’t dying under my watch, not yet.” Charles reached across to grab Arthur’s shoulder, “You’re not dyin’.” and for some reason, Arthur felt himself believing him, even if he knew it wasn’t true. 

Charles let his grip linger like he had done the night with the bottle, and Arthur felt like it meant something more than just companionship, but that thought was in a dangerous territory he had no intentions of crossing. 

But he did do something equally as dangerous. 

He lifted his hand to his shoulder and rested it on Charles’s hand. The feeling of Charles’s hand under his own felt like damnation in the best way possible. Charles didn’t move his hand away and he kept his gaze on Arthur. Arthur could feel himself wanting to close the gap, to push his lips onto the other man’s, to launch his body into his lap, and let everything go for just one night. 

He didn’t let himself take that chance. 

“We… we should get some rest, I think,” Arthur said and let his hand drop, and in turn Charles’s did as well. Arthur avoided Charles’s gaze and looked mournfully towards the bed in the center of the room. “You can have the bed. Deserve it more than me anyways.” He said, pushing his body up and making his way towards the bedroll laying with the rest of their belongings. 

“I can’t let you do that Arthur. You’re all bruised up, and I can spend another night on the floor. I don’t want you to have to.” The tone in Charles’s voice made it clear he wasn’t changing his mind. 

Arthur looked at the bed, which was quite large, larger than the single saloon beds he was used to. Maybe they could both fit, or maybe that was Arthur’s greed taking over. Of course, he wouldn’t pass up a chance to sleep next to Charles. 

“The bed’s pretty big… maybe- I don’ know..” Arthur didn’t look at Charles but he felt his gaze burning holes into the back of his neck. “It’s a dumb idea, I didn’t mean nothin’ by it, Charles-”

“Sure, but make room for me you big lug.” Charles chuckled behind him and slapped a hand on Arthur’s shoulder in a playful manner. 

Arthur felt like his heart was going to burst out of his chest. 

The last thing he expected was for Charles to agree with him, and even less he expected Charles to be happy to do it. Hope spread through his veins like opium, and he never wanted to come down from this high. 

Arthur pushed the blankets back, it had been so long since he had a real blanket to sleep under, and sat on the edge of the bed. 

He watched Charles perform the same type of routine he had seen him doing at camp more times than he could count. He first took off his necklace, then he changed the bandages on his fingers with steady hands, and then he took his shirt off, just to sleep in his drawers (this was exclusive to summers and rooms with two single beds, usually), and Arthur felt like he was watching a greek statue take life. Arthur reveled in the other man’s beauty quietly, thinking of passionate and violent prayers to whatever god had created the man in front of him. 

The sun was fully set, and the fire illuminated the room around them. Charles made his way toward the bed, eyes settling on the open space next to Arthur. Arthur disturbed the peace with coughs coming barreling out of him. 

His lungs rattled around in his chest, his ribs shook, his head became a shooting range. Arthur couldn’t see anything. He was starting to blackout again, the rims of his vision fading from view. He gasped and coughed, reaching out for something to steady himself, hand landing heavily on the bedside table. His other came up to his mouth, and he saw red in the glimpses. 

The hand on his back was there again, coaxing him through it.

“Stay with me, Arthur. Stay with me.” He heard Charles say over the ringing in his ears. Arthur coughed and hacked until the fit was over, but now the pain wasn’t something he could get used to. It was burning him from the inside out, dowsing him in lighter fluid every time he swallowed and gasped. He wanted it over, he wanted the pain gone. He contemplated just getting up, grabbing Charles’s shotgun, and ending everything in the bathroom. One shot and the pain was gone, mental and physical. Charles’s hand was the only thing keeping him from going through with this.

He groaned, grabbing his handkerchief and wiping his hands and mouth off. He needed to rinse them. The doctor warned him that touching people after spitting up blood or fluid would give them the disease. Charles didn’t seem intent on letting him go, though. 

“I-I..needa..wash—” Arthur said, out of breath and struggling to get the words out. 

“I’ll get water. Just hold on, Arthur.” Charles didn’t waste time to go to the washroom, grabbing the bucket and rags he set them down carefully on the table. “Do you need me to?” 

Arthur debated letting Charles baby him, just letting him wipe down his hands and face. Arthur wanted it, he wanted to be able to lay back and let Charles help save him again. But he was ashamed of the thought, he shouldn’t want to be treated this way as much as he did.

Arthur didn’t respond fast enough for Charles. 

Charles took the rag and dumped it into the water, held one of Arthur’s hands in his, making sure there was no skin to skin contact by covering his hand in cloth. Arthur felt himself getting embarrassed, heat rising to his cheeks. He was a grown man. He should be able to do this himself. The risk Charles was putting himself in was too great. 

Arthur didn’t stop him, though. He watched Charles as he ran the rag down his hands, cleaning the rag, putting Arthur’s hands in the water, repeat. All the while he whispered words of hope.

Arthur hadn’t loved, truly loved, anyone in a while but he could remember what it felt like. He remembered what falling in love felt like. Arthur could admit to himself that he didn’t just see Charles as a companion, but someone who made him feel alive. Someone who could make him see things he had never thought of before. Someone he trusted his life with. Someone he would let take care of him when he was sick. Someone he longed for in ways he couldn’t express aloud. 

Charles left the room for a moment to refresh the water and grab new rags, and Arthur was left alone to stare at his palms. Even through the cloth, there was a tenderness in the way Charles had held them. Arthur entertained the thought that maybe Charles was feeling the way he was in that moment, that maybe the look in Charles’s eyes was something other than friendly. It made Arthur shiver to think. Happiness was a thing far away for him, but perhaps it was closer than he thought. 

But maybe he was wrong, and Arthur couldn’t risk something that may put a wedge between them.

Charles returned, sitting beside Arthur on the bed he began to wipe the blood away that was smeared around his mouth. 

Arthur tried not to stare at the man in front of him, who was gently trying to get the specks of blood out of his beard. Charles was a wonder. He was crafted in a way that outsiders would see as intimidating, but Arthur couldn’t see him that way. He was gentle and kind in ways Arthur hadn’t experienced from anyone else. Arthur had never known Charles to be a romantic unless he was drunk or drinking, but in this hotel, it seemed as if Charles was drunk and getting drunker. Arthur hoped he wasn’t seeing things in the wrong light. 

Charles finished quietly, getting up from the bed and taking the bucket and rags back to the washroom. 

Arthur settled himself against the headboard trying not to recall the images of Charles in front of him, holding his palms, being gentle with him. Longing was a poison Arthur had experienced time and time before, but he had never felt it like this. He wished he had taken his chances before everything had gone down, and maybe if Arthur had been wrong he wouldn’t have to be here today. It was a naive thought. Charles would have come looking for him no matter how Arthur felt about him. Charles was too good a man for Arthur Morgan. 

Arthur’s lungs burned and ached worse than ever. By the time Charles returned he felt like he could pass out from the pain. He tried to hide his discomfort, closing his eyes, hiding from the concerned eyes of Charles. He felt the bed sink beside him and heard Charles fussing with the blankets. 

“Goodnight, Arthur,” Charles said quietly, his voice warm and tired. 

“Thank you... For all of it.” Arthur said, realizing he hadn’t properly said thank you for anything Charles has done for him in the past weeks. 

“You’re a good man Arthur. I wasn’t gonna let a man like you die at the hands of the likes of them,” Charles said, soft and strong, “You deserve a better ending than that.” 

Arthur felt his eyes getting wet and willed them to stop. Now wasn’t the time nor place for his emotions to get out of hand. He didn’t want Charles to see him as broken. “Jus’... thanks.”

Arthur felt himself drifting off into a dreamless sleep, the first in a long time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i promise arthur doesn't fall asleep at the end of every chapter, he's just tired


	3. Chapter 3

Charles left in the morning in lieu of errands, leaving Arthur to do as he pleased at the hotel. 

Arthur sat on the edge of the bed and thought over the morning he had just gone through. Waking up next to another man was something Arthur had only done a few times. It reminded him of drunken nights in his twenties and words and actions he would regret. 

Only this time, Arthur didn’t regret anything.

He thought of the way Charles’s body had moved next to Arthur’s during the night, his legs entangling with Arthur’s as he lay on his side and Arthur on his back. Arthur had had time to admire Charles as he slept, again. Sunlight had spilled through the curtains, encasing Charles in a golden light that could take anyone’s breath away. His hair splayed against the pillows had Arthur wishing he could run his fingers through until he woke up. Charles’s face looked less hard-set while he slept, all of the strain of life vanished into something seemingly innocent. Arthur wanted to run his fingertips along the scars scattered along his jaw and cheekbones. Arthur longed for the version of his life where this could be his forever, where they weren’t in a Canadian hotel, but somewhere safe. Somewhere that felt like a home and not a hideout. 

Arthur got out of the bed with aching lungs, searching for where he had left the bottled cure. He drank the rest of it, dreading the same taste but begging for the pain to recede. The lung pain ceased for a moment, but another kind appeared. 

Being alone used to be comforting to Arthur, but right now he felt suffocated. He missed the camp chatter, the sounds of animals, and the knowledge of where he was. He never thought he would miss the sounds of the Reverend and Uncle throwing up at the crack of dawn, but he longed for it in words he couldn’t begin to express.

Loneliness washed over him like a wave on a sinking ship. He had Charles. Charles was constant, a person he could lean on and trust, and Arthur thought he went as far as to say, love. But he missed the girls and their drama, gossip, and open ears ready to listen when you wanted to talk about almost anything. He missed John’s voice complaining about the food, and Pearson smacking him over the head. He missed the sound of Javier’s guitar, he missed using the songs as lullabies on nights he was too worn out to stay up. He missed drunken nights with Lenny and even Sean, so drunk he couldn’t see straight playing poker and dominos, always betting on dumb shit and forgetting to pay up in the morning. He missed Jack, always up and around somewhere and always chattering about something he had just learned. 

He missed Hosea. He had never really been given time to mourn his mentor, his father. He missed how level-headed he was, how kind, how gentle he had always been to Arthur when he was down. He also missed the times where Hosea had come back to camp, cross and cursing about how he heard that Arthur had stirred up trouble in the neighboring town. How he would stand in front of Arthur, hands on his hips with that damn look on his face that made Arthur feel terrible about what he’d done. Arthur would apologize and give some dumb excuse, and Hosea would tell me he needed to be better, that he couldn’t turn into someone making a fuss for no reason. Hosea had always been some sort of moral compass for Arthur, and Arthur wished he could go see him right now. He wanted to ask him why Dutch did what he did, why after all this time and all of their journeys, Dutch had finally lost it? Hosea would know the answer. He knew the answer to everything, especially Dutch. 

Dutch.

Arthur couldn’t say he missed Dutch all that much. He rather missed the boyish image he used to have of him. The man Arthur saw when he was young and alone. The man that pulled Arthur off the street and onto his horse, promising him safety and a home. The man that taught him the right things, and all the wrong things that he thought were right. The memory of the day Arthur met John for the first time pulled at him. It was one of the best memories he had of Dutch. 

-

_“Hosea? Is that young boy about to hang?”_

_“Seems about like that Dutch! What are we doin?”_

_Arthur was on the back of the mare Dutch had given him only a few months ago. They were riding through some town in the midwest, looking for a new camp or a new con. Arthur’s life was the best he’d ever have it at that moment, but he didn’t know it yet._

_Poised in front of the jail were the gallows, and three men were lined up waiting for their demise. One of them though was a boy that seemed only twelve or thirteen. Arthur wondered what the hell a thirteen-year-old could do to deserve hanging._

_“Well, we’re gonna go get that boy!” Dutch shouted over the crowds murmur about the oncoming slaughter._

_Arthur watched Hosea try to look put-off, but he gave up and smiled wild and wider than Arthur had ever seen, following Dutch into the crowd of people._

_“What should I do?” Arthur said, directing it to neither of them particularly, but he knew it would be Dutch to answer. He always had the say in things like this, no matter how many years less he had on Hosea._

_“Go around to the back of the gallows, Arthur. We’re gonna direct him to you once we make the distraction. Hopefully he follows my directions. He’ll jump on your horse, and you’re gonna start runnin’ and you ain’t gonna stop. We’ll be right behind you. I’m trusting you with this boy’s life, you hear me, son?”_

_“Yes, Dutch.” Arthur’s hands shook on the reins, it had been almost five years running with Dutch and Hosea but he was still nervous pulling stunts such as these._

_“Oh, and son? If he starts runnin’, follow.” Dutch nodded to him and got off of his horse, hands on his holsters, waiting for the right moment._

_“Good luck, kid,” Hosea said and nodded before he too got off of his stallion._

_Arthur made his way around to the back, watching as the first man was strung up and quickly dropped. Arthur wondered for a second if that would be his fate. For people like him, it usually ended that way. All he knew is that when he died, he wanted it to be peaceful. No one around, no one watching._

_Dutch and Hosea spoke for a moment, heads close together, smirking. Arthur wondered how they could be so calm. Arthur couldn’t wait for the moment where his hands didn’t shake over these things anymore._

_He saw Dutch making his way toward the front of the crowd, and Hosea making his way toward where the boy was standing in line. He didn’t know who to focus on, but he was sure he would hear Dutch before anything went down. He watched as Hosea pointed the officer watching the line to a street, and Arthur could only read lips well enough to make out “robbery” and “gunsmith”. The officer directed the next man up the steps before walking off toward where Hosea had pointed him._

_Arthur tried to focus on what Hosea was saying but all he could hear was, “Gonna hang jus’ like yer daddy?”, “Poor little Marston boy up and got himself caught huh? What he deserves with slippery fingers like that!”_

_Arthur was angry then. How could they blame a boy for his family? How could a young boy know what he was getting into? Arthur had been in the same spot. He knew he had to get the boy out of there._

_The second man was dropped. Hosea stepped away from him, and Arthur couldn’t see the boy’s face but Hosea looked satisfied._

_The boy was directed up the stairs. A gunshot rang out from the crowd._

_Arthur smiled, knowing it had to have been Dutch. He readied himself on his horse, trying to keep his eyes on the boy._

_Everything became a blur as the crowd started to disperse. Officers were shooting toward where Dutch had been standing, but now he was gone. Arthur watched as the boy looked toward Hosea, who was standing behind the wall of the jail. He heard Hosea yell out a “RUN” as police tried to grab onto the boy._

_The boy broke through, sprinting towards Arthur faster than he thought he had ever seen anyone run before._

_The boy looked wild. Hair down to his shoulders, ripped clothes, and boots with holes. He reminded Arthur of a wolf, baring teeth and a runner like nothing else._

_“You ‘sposed to get me?” The boy said as he jumped onto the back of the horse, gripping Arthur’s sides like he was holding on for dear life._

_“Yeah, that’s me. Hold on, kid.” Arthur said, spurring the mare into a gallop._

_Gunshots went off in the distance but Arthur didn’t look back. He prayed that this wasn’t going to be what got his mentors caught._

_Arthur kept going until he could no longer see the city lights behind him, nor hear the gunshots. He looked behind him to find the boy cowering, head pressed into his back, shaking and scared._

_“Hey… Are you-”_

_“My boy! You got him! I knew you could, I knew it!” He heard Dutch laugh behind him, pulling up his horse to Arthur’s front and jumping down._

_“Arthur!” Hosea’s voice, seeping with relief, looking at Arthur with grateful eyes._

_Arthur felt himself breathe a sigh of relief at the sight of them, inwardly thanking whatever god had kept them alive._

_Arthur got off the horse and tried to entice the boy to come down. He wouldn’t move a muscle._

_“What’re we gonna do, Dutch?” Arthur said, throwing his hands up in defeat._

_“Let me, son,” Dutch said, pushing Arthur away to get close to the boy on top of the horse._

_“What’s your name, kid?” Dutch said, placing his hand on the boy’s boot. He still wouldn’t lower his hands from in front of his face, his body shaking like a leaf._

_“Well I’m Dutch van der Linde, and this here’s my partner in crime, Hosea Matthews. And over there is dear Arthur, the boy who saved you. Now we ain’t gonna hurt you. I did the same for Arthur what I did for you, and I ain’t gonna let those damn trash pester you any longer. Now come down, let's pitch a tent, and we’ll get some food in you.”_

_Arthur hadn’t heard Dutch speak in a tone that soft since the day he came to Arthur’s aid. Arthur looked up to him, he was so good with words and helping folk. He was what Arthur wished he could be one day, maybe. Men like Dutch were dangerous, Hosea had told him that many times over. Men who had strong voices and strong opinions, the type who could command an army. Men who could convince a blind man to see and a rich man to give to the poor. Arthur wanted to be a man like that. Maybe when he was Dutch’s age he would have that skill. He was only twenty-one, now. Age made you wiser is what Dutch told him. He hoped it was true._

_The boy slowly lowered his hands, his face unreadable. Arthur was sure he was searching for signs of violence. Arthur still found himself doing that around Dutch, too._

_“John...Marston,” he said, voice shaking, somehow it seemed as if he was ready for a fight. Arthur wanted to step in and calm him somehow, but that would just complicate it more, Dutch would say._

_“Well_ John, _it is very nice to meet you. Let me help you off that horse, son.” Arthur smiled, and looking to Hosea he saw that the man was looking at Dutch with the softest expression. It looked as if Hosea was seeing the stars for the first time, his face full of wonder and admiration._

_That night Arthur slept in a tent next to a twelve-year-old boy who, they had learned over dinner, had killed a man and stolen enough to buy a house had he known where to sell it. Arthur was somewhat jealous of the limelight being off of him, but he knew that the kid probably deserved the attention Dutch was giving him. Arthur came to the conclusion that maybe he did think of Dutch and Hosea as his fathers. Hosea maybe a little bit more, but today Dutch had entered the same realm. Maybe he wouldn’t be too mad if this was the rest of his life. He thought he might enjoy it, actually._

-

Memories were a dangerous thing. Arthur felt as if he was made of memories, now and for the rest of his time. All he could now was think of his past decisions, his past feelings, his past words. He entertained the idea of leaving the hotel with no traces for a moment. He couldn’t do that to Charles, and frankly, he couldn’t do it to himself. His life was ending slowly, and all he wanted to do was be with someone he trusted. A few months ago he would’ve thought he could only trust himself, that he wanted to die alone, but now he couldn’t imagine leaving Charles’s side. 

____Staring out of the hotel window he watched the citizens of Windsor. They looked dignified, even more than the people of Saint Denis. They didn’t fit in here, he came soon to realize. He rarely saw men with guns larger than pistols, and even less he saw men with them out. Like in the states, outlaws were few and far between now. Throughout the time he spent looking, he only spotted two or three people who looked like the criminal caliber Arthur aligned himself with. He knew they wouldn’t last long here._ _ _ _

____-_ _ _ _

____Arthur was shaving his beard down when Charles came back. It had to be noon by now, and Arthur’s stomach was protesting from the lack of food._ _ _ _

____“Arthur, I found someone selling horses for cheap. I was thinking of getting you one but I decided I should let you choose if you’d like.” Charles said, leaning on the bedpost watching as Arthur finished scraping the blade across the last patch of hair._ _ _ _

____Arthur was somewhat shocked at the proposition. He didn’t think Charles would spend money like that when sometime soon the horse would be left without a rider. For a moment he wondered if Charles had some underlying reason for all of these gifts and deeds and overall niceness. It was unlikely. Arthur knew Charles was a good man, a better man than anyone he’d ever met. Charles performed deeds like this out of good nature, not out of pity or ulterior motives. Arthur felt like a burden._ _ _ _

____“You don’ need to buy me one Charles. I can find some work or other, it ain’t worth you spendin’ your money on me,'' Arthur shook his head. He knew he was lost here, but there was work no matter where you went._ _ _ _

____His words went unheard, though._ _ _ _

____“We ain’t gonna last here. The people are suspicious of me already, and I can’t tell if it's because of my skin or my face. We gotta get supplies for a better camp, get you a new satchel, saddle, horse, and clothes, and then we gotta leave,” Charles paced around the room, his normally steady demeanor was gone. “The people here don’t like Americans too much. Maybe a night or two more here then we’ve got to go. Do you think that’s possible?”_ _ _ _

____“I think so. I haven’t had too much fun starin’ at the people here, either. They seem a suspicious type,” Arthur watched Charles as he sat on the bed, lost in thought and worrying. Arthur had never really seen him this strung out, and he once again felt guilty for bringing this upon him._ _ _ _

____“We should eat and run those errands. I don’t think we should overstay our welcome here,” Charles got up to rustle in his satchel for bread and beans, placing the cans near the fire and handing Arthur a piece of the bread._ _ _ _

____They ate in silence, both of them stewing over the fact that they have to move again. The nomadic lifestyle they had grown so used to has now become more tiring than ever, especially for Arthur. The need to keep moving was ingrained in their blood, but Arthur’s body will never be what it used to be. He can’t keep moving forever._ _ _ _

____-_ _ _ _

____Arthur was once again on the back of Taima, holding onto Charles’s waist and searching the walls for posters. They were on the way to the stables Charles had found earlier, and Arthur had spent more time than necessary trying to convince Charles to let him find a way to pay. His words once again fell on deaf ears._ _ _ _

____Entering the Canadian grasslands, he could see a small stable and barn in a clearing. The stable was well built, and there were chickens and pigs grazing in a fenced area to the side. There was a young girl outside, bouncing on her heels as she watched Charles approach._ _ _ _

____“Oh, mama! Mama! He’s back! I told you he would come, he promised! Oh, and he’s got his friend with him! You’ve got to come see, Mama!” She said, her brown curls bouncing on her shoulders, laughter shaking through her as she ran up to Taima’s side, petting along her side in awe._ _ _ _

____“Sir, I love your horse! What’s her name? Or did you tell me already? What was it….”_ _ _ _

____Arthur watched Charles smile at the young girl, chuckling, and soft-expressioned._ _ _ _

____“Thank you. It’s Taima,” Charles said and the girl laughed and patted down her nose, pressing kisses and whispering sweet praises._ _ _ _

____“Looks like your horse has got an admirer, Charles.” Arthur laughed, patting Charles’s shoulder._ _ _ _

____“It does seem that way, doesn’t it?” Charles chuckled again and gave the girl an apple to feed Taima._ _ _ _

____Arthur realized that he had never really seen him around children, only Jack. He seemed somewhat nervous in a sweet way like he didn’t want to say the wrong thing or look threatening. Arthur tried not to laugh too loud._ _ _ _

____“What’re you laughing at?” Charles said, shifting in the saddle to look at him._ _ _ _

____“Nothin...nothin…” Arthur smiled at him, and Charles smiled right back. In moments like these Arthur felt like he was in a different world, living a life where this was all he had to worry about; Charles and horses, finding land, and a way to live honestly. He wished it were that simple._ _ _ _

____The girl’s mother came out of the barn with a look of relief on her face, smiling at Charles and putting a hand on her daughter’s head._ _ _ _

____“I see you’ve met Julia. She’s a curious girl, ‘promise she doesn’t mean any harm with her questions,” The woman was tall and broad, curled hair like her daughter and the smile of an honest woman_ _ _ _

____“She can ask as many as she wants,” Charles said nodding to Julia, “I’ve come with the friend I told you about earlier, he’d like to take a look at the horses.”_ _ _ _

____“Oh, a’course! Get down off that old girl and come take a look. I’m Kath, by the way.”_ _ _ _

____Arthur jumped off, the ground hitting his feet reverberated into his chest and aching lungs. The pain that had begun last night still resided, burning into him like fire on paper. Charles was looking at him with worrying eyes, making sure he was okay without having to say it aloud. Arthur felt like collapsing into his arms, seeking a cure through Charles’s embrace. When had he become so weak?_ _ _ _

____As they made their way through the barn Charles didn’t leave his side to walk next to the woman, and Arthur was eternally grateful. His pain had made him slow, frustrating him to no end. Charles’s continued presence helped ground him._ _ _ _

____Julia bounced behind them, slowing down at every cow and goat to pet them and feed them treats. Arthur wondered to himself if there was ever a lifetime where he could have that. Maybe if Isaac were still alive… He had to stop himself from thinking any longer. They had reached the horses, anyway._ _ _ _

____In two stalls to the right stood a Missouri fox trotter and a thoroughbred. On the left stood a young Kentucky Saddler and an Appaloosa. Arthur was immediately drawn to the fox trotter, black and white with kind eyes._ _ _ _

____“All of them are relatively the same price. Been trying to get rid of them for a while, but those machines are becoming popular here…” Kath sighed, shaking her head, “I just hate to see it. One day horses won’t roam Windsor streets… That’ll be a sad sight, don’t you say?”_ _ _ _

____Arthur nodded to her, he had heard of machines in that sense. Things that would one day replace the need for horses._ _ _ _

____“Sad indeed, ma’am. But I’m not sure I’d ever give up a horse,” Kath smiled and nodded, looking on the horses in a wistful way._ _ _ _

____Arthur approached the fox trotter, holding his hand out over the stall towards it. It nudged his hand, making it so he had to pet down its nose._ _ _ _

____“A fine horse,” Charles said, stepping next to him and pressing their shoulders together. Arthur looked to him, smiling. “I was thinkin’ the same. I think this might be the one.”_ _ _ _

____Charles started to speak before footsteps ran up next to them, cutting them off._ _ _ _

____“You’re taking her away? If you are, you have to feed her apples, they’re her favorite. She likes carrots, but apples make her the happiest. She doesn’t like being pulled on though, she threw her last buyer off the moment he rode off on her, y’know? Ya can’t be mean to her, sir. Nope!” Julia crossed her arms and stomped her foot, trying to seem as serious as she could._ _ _ _

____Arthur and Charles both laughed, hearty and full. Charles grabbed onto Arthur’s shoulder, his body racking with laughter. The pain in Arthur’s lungs didn’t go away, but at this moment it wasn’t there. Arthur smiled as the laughter subsided and looked at Charles who was also smiling._ _ _ _

____“I promise little lady, I’ll give her all the apples as long as it will keep you from killin’ me,” Arthur said, trying to sound serious and failing. Julia giggled then, and Charles bent to ruffle her hair._ _ _ _

____“Go tell your mom we’d like to make a purchase, miss,” Charles said, laughing softly as she ran back off to her mother._ _ _ _

____Arthur tried not to think of fatherhood. Of waking up next to someone, knowing you had a family. Knowing your kid would nag on you for food and love. He didn’t want to think of how a domestic life was something he had always wanted and always failed at. He couldn’t look at Charles at this moment. Seeing him with Julia made him melancholy. Charles deserved a family, he was still young. He had room in his life for children and a lover who could give him that. He didn’t deserve to be stuck with a dying man who could keel over with the slightest cough. Arthur longed for a life where he and Charles could live together somewhere that could fulfill his wishes. He wanted, maybe selfishly, that Charles longed for the same thing._ _ _ _

____-  
They bought the horse and a saddle. Arthur named her Briseis after someone Hosea had read to him about when he was young. Charles had smiled when Arthur had, quite embarrassed, told him about the name. _ _ _ _

____Charles suggested they roam the land to see how Briseis rode and Arthur had agreed, he desperately wanted to stay as far away from Windsor as possible._ _ _ _

____Once they found an area with a wide expanse of grass Charles slowed down, “Let’s rest here for a moment. I’ve uh-... been wanting to do something.”_ _ _ _

____Confused, Arthur hitched Briseis to a tree and followed Charles into the grassland. On past trips, Charles would only stop to eat or pick herbs and plants. Sometimes Arthur would catch Charles alone outside of camp laying in the sun, alone. He had never caught him doing this with others, but as Arthur caught up to him he watched as Charles laid down, hands behind his head, closing his eyes. Arthur joined him, sitting next to him he copied his posture._ _ _ _

____The silence between them was comfortable again. Arthur desired nothing else right now. He wondered if this was Charles’s way of saying that everything was going to be okay, that he trusted Arthur, that he was letting him in on something no one else had._ _ _ _

____Arthur’s eyes were closed when he heard Charles speak, “Arthur… I-I got you something if you want to accept it,” he opened his eyes to see Charles had sat up with a satchel in his hands. There was beadwork on the opening flap, and there was an outline indicating something was inside. Arthur had never seen Charles look so shy, so wary of his actions. Arthur smiled, taking the satchel._ _ _ _

____The satchel was crafted, not bought. It had hand-stretched and dried leather of different animals, and a beadwork design similar to the one on Charles’s knife sheath. He wondered how long Charles had spent on this, how much time he had poured into such a personal gift._ _ _ _

____“Charles... Thank-”_ _ _ _

____“Open it, please,” Charles was staring at Arthur’s hands, not meeting his eyes. Arthur’s heart warmed. Charles’s gifts had always been left in secret, never given to him directly. The air around them seemed different. The world was theirs and no one could interrupt._ _ _ _

____Arthur opened the satchel and pulled out what was inside. It was a journal made of fine leather. It was gorgeous. Arthur looked to Charles who was still avoiding his gaze. This was the nicest thing anyone had done for him, he thought. It was a loving gift, something only someone close to Arthur would know to get him. Arthur wanted to wrap his companion in a hug, to hold him like it would be the last thing he would ever do._ _ _ _

____“Why… thank you, Charles. This is the best damn thing…” Arthur wasn’t the best with words. He could never express so much in so few words._ _ _ _

____Charles looked up at him, then. Arthur was struck again by the other man’s beauty. He was something made of dreams, Arthur thought. Charles smiled and shook his head at himself for a moment before moving towards him._ _ _ _

____Everything happened so fast._ _ _ _

____Charles moved forward, putting a hand on the back of Arthur’s head and his other on top of Arthur’s on the ground. Their faces were almost touching. Arthur didn’t breathe and he didn’t think, he waited for Charles to move. Charles looked at him with the look that Arthur had been so confused and conflicted about for the past weeks. Arthur understood what it meant now. It meant everything, it meant salvation. It meant that nights wouldn’t be so bad anymore, it meant that Arthur wouldn’t have to fear his feelings anymore. It meant something close to love._ _ _ _

____Charles moved to place a kiss on Arthur’s forehead, lingering there for a moment._ _ _ _

____Arthur felt like crying. He closed his eyes and let the moment engulf him. Charles sighed against him before speaking, “Is… this okay?”_ _ _ _

____“Jesus, yes.” Arthur could barely get out, voice cracking._ _ _ _

____Charles moved down to kiss Arthur, placing his lips against the other man’s._ _ _ _

____Arthur had wished for infinities time and time before, but right now he was sure this is the one he would pick out of all others. Kissing Charles was a gift, in and of itself. He didn’t need the horse or the satchel or the journal, he just needed him._ _ _ _

____The world around them was at a standstill. The tall grass moved around them like water among fish. The sun was setting on them like something out of a novel. It seemed like fiction. Arthur had not begun to register that this was real. That Charles was his as he was Charles’s now. They were a pair. In some ways, they had always been. They were the only two in camp in which silence was a normal thing, the only two that left gifts on each other's beds in lieu of friendship. Everything had led up to this moment. Arthur didn’t want to let go._ _ _ _

____Charles pulled back and laughed, smiling at Arthur as he laid back down, bringing Arthur with him. Arthur situated his head on Charles’s shoulder, gazing at the setting sun above them. He was still smiling. Charles trailed his fingers across Arthur’s shoulder with the arm that was around him, silently sending signals of admiration._ _ _ _

____“I’ve been wanting to do that for awhile…” Charles said._ _ _ _

____“You should’ve, I wouldn’t have complained,”_ _ _ _

____“When I realized I wanted it there was so much shit going on already… also didn’t know if you even liked men,”_ _ _ _

____“It ain’t obvious? You’ve caught me starin’ a few times, haven’t ya?”_ _ _ _

____Charles laughed and gripped onto Arthur's shoulder. Arthur moved his hand up, mirroring what had happened the first night in the hotel. The silence remained. They didn’t need declarations of love, nor did they need any further discussions on feelings to know what this meant._ _ _ _

____To Arthur it meant everything._ _ _ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter killed me to write and I'm still not sure about the ending.  
> also imo Charles putting beadwork onto the satchel is a way to show love and admiration, but if it comes off as fetish-ey in any way please tell me!! I'll remove it immediately!  
> there's also a lot of rdr lore in this chap so if I got anything mixed up or wrong pls correct me <3  
> i also realized Charles may seem like arthur's sugar daddy right now....but Arthur really has no money mans didn't think he was making it off that mountain. charles is Not a sugar daddy  
> thank you to all for reading 
> 
> (also i skimmed/read a few articles about TB and kissing and found that the spreading depends on if you have a certain something ((I cant remember the name)) in you related to the disease that TB can be spread through kissing, but if the disease has progressed so far the transmission through kisses is a low rate. we're gonna say arthur's at that stage for the sake of the fic, correct me if I'm wrong tho)


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